A Kiss Too Late. Ellen James
shoulders, raising her face toward his as if she possessed no will of her own.
She trembled in his arms, alive to his touch, and knew she had to do anything she could to break the spell between them. “Adam…there’s something you should realize,” she said. “My mother wants to get us back together. Let’s not make her think she’s succeeding.”
He drew Jen even closer. “Your mother has nothing to do with this,” he said.
“She’s up to something, I tell you.”
Adam wouldn’t listen, and against her own will, Jen relaxed deeper into his arms. The pounding of the ocean against the shore seemed to grow louder, until she could almost feel the rhythmic throbbing of the waves–or was that simply Adam’s heartbeat next to hers? It was difficult to tell where one sound began and the other left off. And then she realized that the music had ceased entirely. In fact, an expectant sort of silence seemed to weight the air. From the direction of the ballroom, someone gave a discreet cough.
Jen pulled away from Adam, only to find her mother peering out at them. Even from this distance, Jen could see the satisfied glint in her mother’s eyes. Behind Beth Hillard, several other faces peered out with interest, too. It was impossible to tell how long Jen and Adam’s embrace had provided a source of entertainment for the other guests, but Jen’s mother fairly beamed. She gave Adam and Jen a perky little wave from the doors of the ballroom.
“Damn,” Adam said. And Jen had to agree.
CHAPTER FOUR
O UT OF SORTS. That was the only way Adam could describe how he felt this morning. Out of sorts, as if everything in his life had subtly shifted and become just a little displaced. Could he blame this sensation on his problems with the newspaper? Or could it be the fact that his ex-wife was back in town? Back in Newport.
Adam didn’t know the answer. Apparently he didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about his life anymore, and that bothered him as much as anything. He was accustomed to being in control. Not that long ago he’d known exactly where he was headed, but these days it seemed that all the familiar signposts were gone.
For the moment, Adam stood in front of the Newport offices of Hillard Enterprises, the shipping firm that had provided his ex-wife’s family with a substantial fortune over the past few centuries. The firm was a venerable one, originally founded by Jen’s shipbuilding ancestors in the early 1700s. Not that Jen’s forebears had been all that respectable; the family history included tales of smuggling and privateering–more than a few skeletons in the closet. These days, however, Hillard Enterprises occupied itself with the mundane details of supervising its fleets, calculating tonnages and monitoring worldwide freight rates.
Even with branches in New York, San Francisco and London, the firm still maintained its original small building in Newport–almost a museum, really. Adam studied the place: its bricks mellowed with age to an ocher red, the ancient window sashes painted a fresh white as if to belie their years, the hipped roof giving the structure a rather ponderous, top-heavy air. Heritage. The place was all about heritage. It stirred something in Adam, some restlessness he couldn’t quite define. More vague dissatisfaction, it seemed. He didn’t like it, but once again he didn’t seem able to do anything about it. He also didn’t seem able to do anything about the way his ex-wife kept coming to mind. Jen, with her gray eyes and her dark hair tumbling to her shoulders….
Adam pushed open the front door of Hillard Enterprises and passed through a room where relics of the business were carefully preserved: yellowed maps, old-fashioned typewriters and adding machines, framed photographs of Hillard ships through the generations, even a crusty old anchor dating back some two hundred years. Adam climbed a simple, graceful staircase of polished pine, walked down the second-story hallway and knocked on a closed door.
“Come in,” called a voice that quavered just a little, like a scratchy phonograph recording. Adam pushed open the door and walked inside an office where the walls were paneled in more glossy pine. All of this honey-colored wood gave the room an impression of airiness, as if Adam had just stepped into a forest clearing. Jen’s great-uncle William was seated by the window in a slatted chair, taking full advantage of the early-morning sunlight. Recently old William had been complaining that Newport weather had become too brisk even in the summer. William liked to theorize about changes in the earth’s atmosphere, refusing to admit that his own advancing years might account for stiff joints and cold toes.
“Adam–right on time,” William said with obvious approval. Adam shook William’s hand with the requisite formality. He’d known William Hillard all his life, and he also knew how much William appreciated the small grace notes of respect.
Now Adam took a seat across from the elderly gentleman. “You made things sound pretty urgent on the phone, William. I came right over.”
William nodded. “Yes, it’s a matter of some importance. But where is Thomas? He knows we can’t start without him. He does this sort of thing on purpose–”
“Contain yourself, Will,” Thomas Hillard said from the doorway. Thomas, William’s older brother, had turned eighty this year. He walked slowly and stiffly into the room. As stubborn as his sibling, he refused to make concessions to his age and wouldn’t use so much as a cane to help himself get about. The Hillard brothers had other similarities. They were both tall and thin, and they both had snowy white hair. In some ways, however, the two old men were a study in contrasts. William wore outmoded flannel trousers and an equally outmoded cardigan; Thomas wore an elegant, hand-tailored suit. William favored drab, unobtrusive colors; Thomas sported a jaunty red handkerchief in his jacket pocket. The two old guys reminded Adam of a set of mismatched bookends.
William watched with a frown as his brother lowered himself inch by inch into a chair. “You’re almost late, Thomas.”
“Check your watch, Will. I still have fifteen seconds to spare.” Thomas finally settled all the way into his chair and gave Adam a roguish smile. “You’re in for it today, my boy. Will’s on a tear about Jenna.”
Somehow this didn’t come as a surprise to Adam. William was always on a tear about his great-niece.
“I’ll explain, given the chance.” William stared at his older brother, looking peeved, but that was nothing new, either. William always looked peeved with Thomas. “Adam, we’re worried about Jenna. Very worried, I might add–”
“Speak for yourself, Will,” Thomas interrupted. “I’m not worried about Jenna at all. It’s the best thing she could do for herself, kicking up her heels in New York. Let her have at it, that’s what I say.”
William looked more annoyed than ever. Now he pointedly ignored his brother, addressing Adam once again. “We called you here so you could do something about Jenna before it’s too late. This escapade of hers has gone on long enough. Keep her in Newport, Adam. That’s what we’re asking.”
Thomas interrupted once more, lifting a hand that shook slightly. “Calm yourself, Will. I think it’s fine that Jenna wants to be an actress in New York. Just fine.”
Now it was Adam who glanced at Thomas. “Jen? An actress? What are you talking about?”
Thomas’s expression seemed purposely bland. “You haven’t suspected? But it’s true, you know. That’s why Jenna ran away to New York–to become an actress.”
Adam stood and began pacing. This office, for all its sunlight and airiness, felt too confining. Perhaps it was the age of the place, or the age of its inhabitants, but Adam felt restless. Besides, he was having a difficult time accepting this claim Thomas had just made. Jen, an actress. He’d been married to her all those years, and she’d never once mentioned anything about wanting to act.
“It can’t be true,” sputtered William. “It can’t possibly… But, Tom, if you knew something about Jenna, why didn’t you tell me?” William sounded hurt, like a kid asking why he hadn’t been allowed to join the sandlot baseball game. Occasionally that happened–William